


mask

by cuttothequickk



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Drabble, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Like the medical ones, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Masks, Non-Explicit Sex, Sickfic, Slash, Teasing, kind of?, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: All it takes is Izaya wearing a mask for Shizuo to see right through him.(Also translated into русский)





	mask

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been translated into русский by the lovely PrussianBell!
> 
> Read [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6586368).

New Year’s Day is always quiet in Japan, and this particular January first is no different. Most people are out visiting shrines to clap their hands and rings the bells and usher in the New Year with prayers for luck in the coming months, and Shizuo quite likes it. It’s snowy in Tokyo, and with the ground covered in ice and the streets empty of their usual roamers, Shizuo can stroll through Ikebukuro with his hat on and his scarf wrapped tight around him and remember why he loves this city so much.

It’s not surprising, really, that Izaya shows up to ruin it.

What is surprising is the thing Izaya is wearing, an item so cheap you can get a pack of five for 100 yen at the grocery store, and so ubiquitous in Japan that there are friends who practically never see each other without one. But the strange thing about the item’s presence here and now is that Izaya is wearing one for the first time possibly ever, at least that Shizuo has seen. Shizuo doesn’t remember Izaya ever wearing a mask in high school, but then again, Izaya was hardly ever in class in high school anyways. Shizuo definitely hasn’t seen him with a mask in the years since they graduated, and now that Izaya is standing in front of him with the offending thing across his face, Shizuo is just standing there staring instead of running after the flea like he should be.

It’s just a stupid mask.

“What’s that?” Shizuo says after an awkward pause. He’s surprised Izaya hasn’t already taken off into a sprint away from him, cackling over his shoulder or throwing some sharp remark.

“What? Are you even Japanese, Shizu-chan?” Izaya says, voice hardly muffled by the mask itself but rough on some as-yet-unidentified illness. Shizuo forgets about seeing red at the prospect of Izaya ruining the first day of a new year for just a moment, his thoughts trip-tumbling over themselves as he takes a step towards Izaya, one hand reaching out as if to touch the mask before it drops awkwardly to his sides.

“What’s wrong with you, flea?” Shizuo asks, his mouth apparently still in working order even if his brain feels like it’s not.

Izaya shakes his hair out of his face a little, the mask a stark white even against his sickly-pale skin. “I’m sick, obviously. Why else would I be wearing a mask?”

Shizuo shrugs, still not moving. “I don’t know. A disguise.”

Izaya’s eyes widen like he’s never thought about this possibility before. “Ooh, look at Shizu-chan. What a brain he has!”

Shizuo rolls his eyes. A lot of Izaya’s sarcastic bite is gone when his eyes look glazed and his voice is all nasal with congestion. “Go home, flea.”

Izaya dances towards him a little, and for all he claims to be sick—looks kind of sick, even—he is still as graceful as ever. “What, not going to chase me around Ikebukuro because I’ve invaded your territory? What kind of guard dog are you, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo shakes his head. “No. Leave.”

“Because I’m not allowed in Ikebukuro?” Izaya presses, and Shizuo wonders what exactly he’s fishing for.

Shizuo rolls his eyes, ignoring the way Izaya’s eyelashes look dark and thick against the violet crescents of exhaustion under Izaya’s eyes. “No, stupid flea. Because you’re sick.”

Izaya’s eyes light up, and Shizuo realizes his mistake. His regret is too little, too late.

“So you’re concerned about me? Because of the mask?” Izaya says, voice lilting despite his stuffy nose.

Frustration flows through him, so hot he almost growls. “Shut up. Go home. Sleep it off, or whatever. That’s what I do when I get sick.”

“The beast can get sick?”

“Just. Leave me alone.” Shizuo turns and starts walking away from Izaya for possibly the first time in his entire life. Izaya falls into step next to him as he tries to walk away.

“Can you get sick, Shizu-chan?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I meant when I’m hungover. Or whatever. I don’t know. I got sick when I was younger. It doesn’t matter.”

“Can you get hungover? Can you even get drunk?”

Shizuo stops walking and whirls on Izaya. “Shut up, go home, leave me alone.”

“Or what?”

Shizuo freezes. Again, Izaya has caught him. It’s obvious by now that Shizuo is refusing to fight because Izaya is sick, and Izaya is taking full advantage.

“Cat got your tongue?” Izaya asks, eyes crinkling as he grins. With the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face, it might actually be a genuine smile. For a second, Izaya even looks attractive. Shizuo wonders how often he gets laid.

And then he promptly shuts down that line of thought.

“No. Why are you like this? Go home.”

Izaya shakes his head. “I have things to do that can’t wait. And actually, I can’t really stay and chat too much. Places to go, people to see, and all that.” Izaya’s voice cuts out at the end and he coughs a little to clear his throat, turning away to be polite even if he is wearing the customary mask. When he turns back to look up at Shizuo, his eyes are hazy.

“Like—like yakuza people?” Shizuo asks.

Izaya laughs a little, the sound rough in his throat. “As if I could tell you that.”

So yakuza people.

“Tell them you’ll talk to them tomorrow, or the next day, and then go home and rest, and stop annoying me.” Shizuo grits out, fingers automatically reaching for his pack of cigarettes as if a hit of his addiction will actually do anything to calm his nerves.

“Aww, Shizu-chan is concerned!” There’s that grin again, the one that might be real behind the mask.

Shizuo dips his head. “No.”

Izaya laughs and it sounds real, congestion aside. “Oh, Shizu-chan! You’re so cute like this,” he says, in a voice Shizuo has never heard before.

It’s funny, Shizuo thinks, because actually Izaya is the one who is cute like this. Genuine, less guarded. He’s more himself, somehow, with the protection of an actual mask to cover his mouth and nose and most of his cheeks. A shock of adrenaline floods Shizuo’s chest, his heart pounding as if to say oh, oh, that is what you meant.

“You can go home,” Shizuo says, choosing his words carefully. “Or you can come home with me. My apartment is four blocks from here.”

Izaya looks up to meet Shizuo’s gaze full-on, none of his usual almost-flirtatious lack of eye contact or fluttering lashes. It makes Shizuo realize how little they actually really look at each other, how different Izaya seems when his gaze, fevered as it is, is fixed directly on Shizuo.

“I know,” Izaya says, softer.

“So?” Shizuo whispers back.

Izaya nods, once. He tucks some hair behind his ear, fingers careful not to dislodge the strap of the mask. “Your place.”

Shizuo turns. “Right then. Let’s go.”

 

 

Izaya calls the people he was supposed to meet. He makes up some excuse that Shizuo doesn’t hear. They walk to Shizuo’s apartment side by side, the backs of their hands brushing a couple of times until Izaya puts his hands in his pockets. Shizuo gives him a quick questioning look, but Izaya’s head is down. He looks like someone in an advertisement with the way his glossy hair stands out against the freshly fallen snow.

When they get to Shizuo’s apartment, Izaya leans against the wall while he waits for Shizuo to unlock the door. Shizuo is struck by the angle of his neck against black fabric, the slant of his hips and his long legs. Izaya meets his gaze, catches him staring, and they both swallow and say nothing. They make it through the door. Their shoes are left in the hall. Izaya strips off his coat and hangs it on a hook. Shizuo follows suit. Izaya doesn’t take off the mask.

“So, what do you think? Can you get sick or not?” Izaya asks.

Shizuo trembles where he stands, swallows hard. “I don’t know. But we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

Shizuo unhooks the mask from behind Izaya’s ears and pulls it away. Behind the clinical white, Izaya’s cheeks are red and flushed. His eyes are bright and glassy. His lips are quirked into a smile, and it’s a real smile.

Shizuo leans forward slowly, more slowly than he meant to before he initiated the motion. It is, after all, the only first time they will ever get. Izaya’s chin tilts back in time with Shizuo’s movement, their eyes never breaking contact. And then Izaya lets out a soft breath and his eyes flutter shut, and Shizuo’s lips meet his and Izaya’s skin is soft, his lips pliant and talented the way Shizuo has always known they would be, even if only in idle unconscious musing. They breathe in the same air and tilt their heads a little bit more, simultaneous, so that the seams of their lips can slot together and bloom open into something wet and heady, the hint of a tongue from Shizuo and the soft press of teeth from Izaya, and then Shizuo is crushing Izaya forward into his arms as the informant lets out a whimper and tugs himself closer, the distance between them erased so simply Shizuo almost doesn’t believe it was ever there at all.

They fall into bed, and this is one way to get Izaya to sleep, Shizuo finds out, once they’re both sweaty and sated, limbs tangled together as Izaya curls up like a cat against Shizuo’s side and hums like a purr until he relaxes into dreams. Shizuo follows Izaya into sleep, hardly a step behind in his pursuit. But that’s nothing new.

 

 

 

Shizuo wakes up to Izaya in a cold sweat, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. Shizuo stirs to alertness and sits up next to him, an arm going around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Izaya shivers. “Just fever dreams. Don’t worry about it.”

He looks like he’s going to cry, and when Shizuo tightens his grip on Izaya’s bicep, Izaya winces.

“Are you achy?” Shizuo asks, thinking back to when Kasuka had the flu in middle school.

Izaya tenses. “I’m fine, Shizu-chan.”

“You can take a shower or something. If it’ll help.”

“I’m not achy. You just shouldn’t have been so rough.”

“I wasn’t rough.” Shizuo says, voice soft.

Izaya nods, whatever fight he had in his dissipating as his head lands on Shizuo’s shoulder. “No. You weren’t. It was really quite disappointing.”

“Why are you like this?” Shizuo asks, but there’s less bite to it now that he’s seen the stunned flutter of eyelashes as Izaya gasped in the throes of pleasure, and also now that he’s seen Izaya sneezing ungracefully into the crook of his elbow because of a cold. This is Izaya when his glamour is gone: shaking his head, sniffling, choking a laugh out around a cough.

Shizuo’s heart beats so hard he’s sure Izaya can hear it. “Do you want a shower or not?” Shizuo asks. “You can go back to sleep, you know.”

Izaya takes a breath, lets it out. “I’m okay. I’ll shower in the morning. Might have more bad dreams, you know?”

Shizuo guides Izaya back down so they’re lying next to each other.

“Wake me up if it gets bad, okay?” Shizuo offers.

Izaya nods once, makes an affirmative noise. “Goodnight, Shizu-chan.”

“Izaya-kun. Goodnight.”

When Shizuo wakes up in the morning, Izaya is grinning at him. Even without the mask, Shizuo can tell that it’s genuine.


End file.
